Imprint
by Fair-Ithil
Summary: In the mornings after all that is left of Nymphadora Tonks are memories that seem far more aged and brittle than they should...preHBP


**Disclaimer:** No I'm not J.K. Rowling, no I do not own Harry Potter and no I would never kill Sirius(or anyone else) if it were up to me.

**A/N:** Don't know what made me write this, probably the loneliness that settles in around midnight. Anyway this is Pre-HBP with **minor HBP spoilers**. Remus POV, stream of thought type thing, or random moments, which ever you think sounds more appropriate, which then shifts to Tonks POV, only at the very end.

Read, enjoy, review.

* * *

He thinks of her as a ghost sometimes, an imprint left over from another time.

Drinking from his tea cup, slipping into his bed in the dead of night, brushing her teeth with his tooth brush, singing in his shower, leaving no tangible traces of herself, just a broken tune he finds himself humming off hand, the lingering scent of rose water that seems almost uncharacteristically like her.

In the mornings after all that is left of Nymphadora Tonks are memories that seem far more aged and brittle than they should.

-

He thinks back to the time when he had a life outside the Order.

When he was still young and there was some sense of _promise_. When James and Lily were so much in love and Sirius could still smile with his eyes and Peter was just Peter who they trusted. He thinks back to a time before _her_ and her pink hair and clumsiness and remembers trying times of war and lost and betrayal.

Not much has changed.

-

He can't be sure what this _thing_ is between them.

The causal manner in which she addresses the situation irks him for no reason Remus can possibly understand. 'You worry enough for the two of us' she jokes, her eyes flashing amber before returning to their violet tone. He wants to smile, wants to joke, but the truth is he hasn't been with anyone in so long he often finds himself wondering how he is supposed to interact.

But as the war thickens she is called away more often by the Ministry and their time together is narrowed done to hazy nights and lazy mornings where both are too tired to bother with conversation.

-

'You're sleeping with her.'

Azkaban, he has learned, has striped Sirius of all tactfulness, not that he had that much to begin with.

So, this morning, he addresses his friend in the manner befitting his inquiry. Remus ignores him. Time has changed them both, neither is the man they knew from before. For Remus twelve years matured him, allowed him to become calloused to certain things and enlightened on others. For Sirius Black twelve years of solitude have destroyed him, no maturing or aging, only rotting away in a cold cell, surround the misery of others. For him there is nothing left in this world save Harry and Remus and Their Cause all of which he connects back to the life before imprisonment.

'Thought as much.' Sirius says something oddly strangled in his voice.

-

He has never been able to call her Tonks.

It is absurd to him, the idea of addressing a grown woman by her surname simply because she finds her first name horrid. He does admit however, one day while they walk down the street, that Nymphadora does not really suit her, what with her indigo curls and not-quite-emerald green eyes, her stained jeans with the holes at the knee. 'What do I look like then?'

There is a kind of easiness to this moment, out in the open, and he thinks that perhaps he is not so old, and there is a sense of promise, as though this _thing _that they share, this thing that is truly more than a thing might actually work.

'Besides a lunatic?'

'Oh bugger off.' She laughs and continues on her way.

-

_Dora_ he whispers much later while she lays half asleep in his bed, the shadows of Grimmauld Place flickering around them, making her eyes seem sunken and her sleepy smile somewhat twisted.

It is then that Remus remembers what they are.

-

Remus Lupin is not new to death.

He has endured it all his life, beginning with his mother at the age of ten until now, not quite forty and having buried an empty coffin, standing at the unmarked grave of a dead man finally declared innocent. But there is no victory to be had in this, because Sirius will never know, no more than Lily and James know how brilliantly their son turned out. 'Remus.' Her voice cuts through the fog that has settled around him and she takes his hand. Her head is bent, black hair spilling over the soft fabric of a black coat and she seems so unlike the woman he knows, too much like the beauty he is sure Bellatrix Lestrange once was. Her eyes, grey and heavy, stare at the plot of freshly turned earth and a small sob escapes her throat. Her hand seems impossibly small in his and she tightens her grip as the first few tears travel down the face he can't quite bring himself to look at.

Somewhere inside of him he realizes this _thing_ cannot last forever, but he cannot bring to let go of her yet.

-

It is Dumbledore who provides him a solution.

He will go underground, join his _kind_, try and persuade them to their side. It is a lost cause and both men know this but Remus agrees as he ever has and prepares. There is a tightness in his chest as he packs away his few belongings, removing everything from his dilapidated room at Number Twelve, the building itself now filled with a heavy air that no amount of airing out will vanquish.

He has to leave her behind, this is a certainty, make sure she forgets about him. She is still young after all and there will others who will come after him. As for himself, Remus is not sure he will even return from this expedition.

'It'll be for the better,' he tells himself as he readies to tell her.

-

He has been distant.

Remus visits her only once when she is on sick leave from the Ministry, her ribs aching in the spot where they have been mended, the bruises on the side of her face hidden, though the spot is still tender to the touch. He drops in around noon, laden with treats from Molly. They end up sharing the mince meat pie and some tea for lunch but he maintains a space between them that worries her.

He looks at her closely, aware of the injuries that have her 'holed up' in her rather messy flat on Pemberton Road. He tells her firmly of what he intends to do, tells her he will be unable to contact anyone and that perhaps it would be best if they were to end _this_.

'When do you leave?' She asks, having been surprisingly quiet throughout the majority of his speech.

'Dumbledore wants me to go as soon as possible.'

Tonks closes the gap between them and kisses him. 'We have 'til then.'

-

She insists he spend the night at her place, not keen on being alone. He will be departing soon, on some underground mission he can't look her in the eyes when speaking of. While the Auror inside of her warns her something is wrong she allows herself to be lulled into a sense of contentment as they lay on her mussed bed, his fingers tracing patterns on her side. For Tonks this is perhaps one of the better things still intact in her life, something that makes sense to her.

In the morning, she tells herself, they will have a talk. She will tell him she does not think it wise to put an end to this relationship of theirs. Maybe, if she can call upon the courage she is sure is somewhere inside her, Tonks will even tell him that she might be a little bit in love.

Sirius is gone now and the war has begun in full and any day may be their last and she knows she wants to spend it with him.

'Night' she breathes and he brushes a kiss against her sore cheek and she thinks she hears him faintly whisper goodbye before falling asleep.

-

She wakes up to an empty bed, and wonders briefly where Remus has gone but it only takes her a minute to realize what it is he's done. '_He's gone_'. She feels something like sorrow and anger bubble up deep inside her and she bites her lip as she leaps from the bed as though the very mattress burns her. She looks into the cracked mirror on the wall across from her and sees her pink hair has become black, her once blue eyes grey like river stones. For the first time it is Remus Lupin who has become the ghost, the imprint, with only the slightest traces remaining.

_Dora,_

_This is not the way I had hoped this would end but it is, in the end, for the best as I am sure you will come to understand. You deserve better._

_I'm sorry._

_Remus_

The words are printed in his upright letters on a piece of parchment left besides a half empty bottle of perfume on her dresser.

'Me too.' She breathes as the letters become out of focused and then blot.

**End**


End file.
